


I'm Glad There Is You

by bossbeth



Series: Six Weeks in Nevada [2]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: A little bit of gender feels too, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Butch Kara Danvers, Cowboy Kara Danvers, Divorce Ranch AU, F/F, T for alcohol and smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-18 01:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21503089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossbeth/pseuds/bossbeth
Summary: Lena had been prepared for certain things.“It gets dark out there, darling,” Jack had told her in that grand, romantic way he had, voice soft like he was sharing a secret. “You’ll see more stars than you thought visible to the naked eye. And quiet? It has new meaning out there. It’s an empty sort of stillness, and it’ll smother you like a blanket.”Jack was full of shit.--Lena enjoys a moment in the dark, even if she's not as alone as she thought.
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Series: Six Weeks in Nevada [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1549924
Comments: 29
Kudos: 354





	I'm Glad There Is You

**Author's Note:**

> I am on vacation in the desert, and I miss divorce ranch with all my heart, so here's an incredibly indulgent, un-beta'd divorce ranch interlude for you and for me.

Lena had been prepared for certain things.

“It gets dark out there, darling,” Jack had told her in that grand, romantic way he had, voice soft like he was sharing a secret. “You’ll see more stars than you thought visible to the naked eye. And quiet? It has new meaning out there. It’s an empty sort of stillness, and it’ll smother you like a blanket.”

Jack was full of shit.

Dark can be bright, which surprised the hell out of her - bright enough to wake you up from a dead, not altogether unsober sleep. It turns out that if the moon is full enough, and the sky clear enough, a beam of moonlight can and will fall across your bed, in roughly the correct size and general trajectory to glare on your pillow.

The quiet was a different sort of menace. With the ambient hum of the city turned off, yes, an empty stillness settled like an even pond - but it turned out even the smallest pebble made grand ripples.

And the ranch was all pebble, it seemed. The wood floors above her creaked as the house settled; a bird or two was letting out a low irregular call; and some sort of insect was mournfully in season, or out of season and sad about it, and that mood inspired a constant, grating, wavering chirp.

“Fuck,” she said to the general ambiance, and decided to talk to a cigarette about it.

When the sun went down, it got surprisingly cold, with a mean wind cutting through you at inopportune moments. Lena bundled accordingly, fingers clumsy with sleep - buttoning her pajama shirt all the way up to the throat, cinching the matching slightly oversized robin’s blue sleep pants tight, and pulling her new heavy coat from the hall tree. She slipped the cigarettes in her pocket as she contemplated her footwear choices before opting for convenience, poking her bare feet into Kara’s brown boots.

They were three sizes too big for her, at least, but she wasn’t going far. The only risk was the ill-fitting boots gave her feet quite the clomp, so she shuffled her way out the door, closing the entry slowly to minimize the creak of the hinge. The household was clearly accustomed to all manner of racket - no one within stirred, even after she paused with her hand on the door knob, counting her heart beats to ten.

She plopped on the middle seat of the stairs down from the porch and set a cigarette on her lip, lighting it with a lighter she tucked back into her pajama chest pocket.

Her car was parked only a quarter mile down the drive, but it had taken her less than three nights at the dry Danvers Ranch to set up her own impromptu wet bar. Without bothering to look, she reached under the stairs and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. She saluted the bright dark, the loud quiet, and her sagacious husband, and took a deep pull.

“Easy there,” said Kara Danvers from off to her right.

Kara must have been out here all along, and Lena was too busy paying attention to notice. Kara clearly didn’t have half as much concern for the cold - she rested bare feet on the porch railing to better tip her seat back on its hind legs. She hadn’t done much more than pull her hair into a messy ponytail and tug her overalls over her union suit, red sleeves rolled just past the elbow, one too many buttons undone at her chest. One strap was buttoned over her shoulder, the other hanging loose along the side of the chair, and her hair was tumbling loose too, half obscuring her face and temples. In her lap was the one-eyed barn cat, and now that Lena was paying attention, she could pick out the low rumble of its purr as Kara stroked its back with a loose hand.

“You know we have cups inside,” teased Kara, scratching to tip of her nose with her free hand. “Mugs. Glassware. All manner of beverage receptacles.”

Lena swallowed her drink, willing her cheeks not to flush from the joint burn of liquor and embarrassment at being caught out. “I didn’t want to break any rules.”

Kara had a paperback face down on her knee, but she tucked it into her bib pocket. She lowered her seat gingerly and padded over to sit next to Lena on the stoop, carrying the cat with her. It seemed fine with the situation until Kara’s loose buckle clanked against the plank of the step - then it let out a low yelp and bounced off of Kara’s knee, sitting five feet away and grooming itself fitfully.

“Suit yourself,” said Kara to the cat with a low laugh, wiping the fur off her hands with a quick rub. To Lena, she said, “The rules aren’t there to drive you to drink straight from the glass, Miss Luthor.”

Lena felt her skin prickle at the unfamiliar name. “You can really call me Lena. And that way I won’t feel like I have to call you ‘Miss Danvers.’”

Kara’s nose crinkled in distaste. “Well, we certainly can’t have that. Sounds awful, even coming from your lovely mouth.” Kara didn’t stop to notice Lena react to that. “‘Miss Danvers.’ Burns on the tongue like the Devil’s piss. Jesus Christ.”

That stopped Kara in her tracks, shoulders up around her ears in abashed self-admonishment. She swiped her glasses off her nose, digging a thumb into her eye. “I’m sorry, Miss Luthor, it’s been a spell since I’ve actually had a conversation with anyone without a month’s worth of stubble on his chin, or a few hundred miles worth of mud on their hooves.”

Lena puffed out a cloud of smoke with a laugh. “I’ll forgive your indelicacy if you call me Lena, Miss Danvers.”

“Ooof.” Kara gripped the nubbly red fabric of her union suit like she’d been shot in the heart. “It gets me right between the ribs. Okay, okay.” She wiped her palm against the fabric one more time, and stretched it out across them. “Lena, I’m Kara.”

Lena took the outstretched hand. “We’ve shaken on this before.”

Kara’s eyes were bright in the moonlight, and she winked. “Clearly I need a few more shakes for it to take.”

Kara’s large, rough thumb ran over the back of Lena’s palm twice, and she said her name again as many times. “Lena. Lena. I can manage that.”

“We’ll see if you can, Kara-Kara,” said Lena, masking her discomfort at the attention with the weak mimicry. “I swear I am not trying to push the limits of your hospitality. I just felt like a child, sneaking away from the house for a smoke and a drink.”

Kara snorted. “That’s a quick and vivid sketch of your childhood, Miss - Lena.” She corrected herself before Lena could do more than raise her hand. Kara plucked the cigarette from it, settling it on her own chapped lips. “This stuff’ll kill you, you know.”

Lena hummed a non-answer and took another drink.

Kara watched with wary eyes, exhaling an easy and familiar puff. “That stuff will, too. Takes the long way around.”

Lena screwed the lid back on. “Is that why there’s none of it in the house?”

“Basically.” Kara nodded. “If you don’t like it, you won’t be the first. It’s why my sister moved out.”

Suddenly, Lena wasn’t interested in talking about it anymore. Her chest ached pleasantly from the drink and the company, and she didn’t want to spoil it. So she tucked the bottle under the stair again, wedging it out of sight, and clicked the toes of Kara’s boots together. “Sorry I stole your shoes.”

“I’m not. Look at you.” Kara laughed, and handed the cigarette back over. “Clearly you needed ‘em more than me.”

“I thought a cowboy’s boots were sacred,” said Lena, deciding to tease a little. “Boots and hat and saddle. The vestments of their calling.”

Kara snorted. She dug the paperback out of her pocket. ‘Open Pastures, Broken Hearts’ said the title in a looping script. A scowling man in crisp chaps and a thick moustache had a pistol in one hand, a fainting woman in the other.

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m not a traditional sort of cowboy.” Kara held the paperback up to her face, jutting out her jaw with a squint, doing her best glower.

Lena tilted her head and closed one eye. “Hmm,” said Lena, holding up a finger under Kara’s nose in a faux moustache. “There we go. Identical.”

Kara snorted a laugh, and Lena covered her satisfaction at the sound by holding the cigarette between them, but Kara didn't take it.

“They’re my poppa’s boots,” Kara said eventually, voice low. She worried the paperback in her hands, then suddenly realized what she was doing, and set it on the stoop next to her, flattening it out with a nervous sort of energy. “They don’t quite fit, but they’re what I got.”

Lena squinted at the boots in the moonlight. “That’s a lot of metaphor for a pair of shoes.”

“Yeah,” said Kara, laughing again evenly. “Yeah, sorry. I’m like that sometimes. Sentimental. They’re just boots.”

“Your poppa’s boots, though.” Lena ashed the cigarette absently. “When I was unpacking, I realized I brought my rosary.” Kara frowned, so Lena clarified. “Prayer beads. My brother got them for me, on his trip to Rome. And it’s about as subtle as my brother. Giant glittering stones dotting every decade.” Lena rubbed her brow with her thumb. “Pious as a poke in the eye.”

Kara laughed again.

“I brought them with me.” Lena picked a bit of tobacco off her tongue with her pinky. “I didn’t pack enough socks. But that, I brought. Why is that?”

“Sounds like maybe you’re sentimental, too.”

“Maybe.” Lena frowned. “Is that why I’m out here? Too sentimental?”

Kara leaned back, legs sprawled in front of her, elbows resting on the step above. “It’s certainly why I’m out here. It’s not the money or the fame.”

Lena leaned back, keenly aware of how much more stiffly she sat than the lanky sprawl next to her. “Don’t we make a pair. Two women with not enough sense and too much sensibility.”

“Good book,” said Kara under her breath, but after a beat her laugh came out uncomfortable. “Woman’s gotta be an awfully big word to fit both you and me in it.”

Lena frowned. “What does that mean?”

Kara took the cigarette back. “It means, look at you.” She gestured vaguely between them with the butt. “Look at me.”

Lena stood up, standing in front of Kara, arms crossed. “I’m looking.”

Kara stared up at her, eyes unreadable behind her glasses. She reached over and stubbed the cigarette out on a rock, tucking the stub behind her ear, and stood to her full height.

In Kara’s boots, Lena was just below eye level with Kara in her bare feet. A tingling feeling settled low at the base of her scalp.

“Look at you, and look at me.” Kara slid her hands in her pockets, shoulders up in a shrug. “How can one word be both of us. You reckon we’re even the same species?”

Lena felt bold, cocking her head back to look Kara dead in the eye. “I’m less and less interested in what makes us different, cowboy.”

Kara reached out and touched the lapel of Lena's coat between thumb and forefinger, her smile warm and lazy. “Funny. Because that’s what fascinates me.”

What little boldness Lena had felt drained from her slowly, replaced by something distant. She didn’t know what to say next. So she said in a voice quiet and low, “Why are you still awake, Kara?”

Kara kept her eyes where her hand thumbed the wool of Lena’s coat. “Can’t ever sleep in this house. Not really. I’m building those rooms for guests, sure.” Her eyes bounced up and met Lena’s at last. “But one’s for me. Maybe I can sleep sound in a room that’s just mine, that I built myself.”

“Definitely sentimental,” said Lena.

“What about you?” Kara pulled her hand away and stuck it back in her pocket. “Why are you still awake, Miss Lena Luthor?”

Lena ducked her head, suddenly shy. “I’ve had my nightcap, so I’ve no excuses.”

Kara swiped the book from the porch, placing it back into her pocket before she offered an arm. “Then may I walk you home?”

Lena felt herself smile. “I suppose you may.”

When they made it the few steps inside, Lena sat on the hall tree and leaned over to tug off the boots - but before she could, Kara patted her knee. Lena propped one foot up and then the other, and Kara tugged them free of the leather, nice and easy.

“Thank you,” mouthed Lena, glancing to the stairs to the master bedroom.

Kara tipped the brim of an invisible hat with her fingertip, and Lena couldn’t suppress a laugh. Kara’s hands went up in a shushing gesture, and as they both glanced up to hear if Eliza had heard the sound, the cat came sashaying through the open door like it owned the place, meowing a low yowl.

“None of that, none of that!” Kara’s voice was a whispering shout. She scooped the cat up and pressed a kiss to the top of its head before tossing it outside and shutting the door firmly.

Lena had made it to her door without laughing again, and was determined to stay the course. She held up a hand and mouthed “Night.”

Kara nodded, smile wide and bright as the moon. “Good night, Lena,” she said as she opened her own door, the whisper loud in the quiet between them.

Lena leaned on the closed door for a long, long moment, staring with eyes unseeing into her room. Eventually, she walked over to her hat box and opened it, reaching for the small jewelry box inside.

The rosary glittered in the moonlight, chunky and cold, blood red jewels out of place in the simple room, held in a sinner’s hands.

She stroked the beads with her thumb, feeling the words to the prayers roll through her mind without thought, without meaning.

She folded the rosary so it would fit in the box again, settled it on top of the bracelet her husband had given her for their anniversary, and closed them both away.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on twitter as [heybossbeth](https://twitter.com/heybossbeth) and tumblr as [bossbeth](https://bossbeth.tumblr.com)
> 
> Comments, kudos, and bookmarks give me life. Thank you for your time, attention, and patience, friends.


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